


Oxford Tale

by Hyarrowen



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Lewis (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Oxford, cat fic, non-daemon crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyarrowen/pseuds/Hyarrowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Moxie the cat after the events of <em>The Subtle Knife</em> ?  </p><p>Perhaps she found a home with characters from another Oxford canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oxford Tale

The South Downs rose like a green wave ahead; clouds raced inland from Southampton Water. Hathaway had lounged in the passenger seat all the way down the A34, basking in the breezy morning sun. He would have to drive on the way back, while Robbie dozed in his turn.

“A cluster of goings-on, in that street!” mused Hathaway while they were on a quiet patch of the road. It took concentration to dodge heavy lorries and the luxury coaches shuttling between Jane Austen country and the dreaming spires, so he had kept quiet for much of the journey.

“What do you mean?”

“Next door. Ten years ago. Murder, or manslaughter. A boy vanishing. Hampshire Police got some of the mess sorted out – they found the mother, staying with a family friend, though they lost tabs on her after that – but the boy disappeared completely. So as well as our man – Somerton – there are other things happening there.”

“Related things?” Robbie touched the brakes as a young motorcyclist made an attempt at a Darwin award, and Hathaway stayed silent until the danger was over.

“Don't think so, just a statistical blip. Somerton's going into a Care Home next week – if it had been a week later we'd be seeing him there.”

“Poor guy.”

“It makes me wonder what sort of a witness he'll be. I mean, our end of it was years ago.”

“Still, it must've been pretty memorable being around Robert Maxwell on a regular basis.”

“Agreed.” 

Robbie signalled, changed lanes and took them off the ring road, before plunging into a maze of suburban roads that led them eventually to a newish red-brick estate.

“Pretty soulless,” muttered Robbie.

“Comfortable enough, though. Families have got to live somewhere.”

Robbie grunted. They drew up outside a pair of semis, one with a neglected lawn, the other a riot of plants which looked well-cared-for. Hydrangeas bloomed extravagantly beside the front door.

Hathaway unfolded himself from the nearside seat, and straightened his jacket. Robbie, feeling as always hopelessly rumpled beside him, followed him up the driveway of the first house, and rang the bell, with his identity card at the ready.

The interview didn't help much, though old Brian Somerton was well aware that his memory was slipping, and had assembled anything he thought might help; in-house magazines for Pergamon Press, receipts, and even a memo or two. But being asked to remember what had happened on a particular day – “I'm sorry, Inspector...” he fumbled for the name, couldn't reach it, and let it go. “We had to protect ourselves, you understand, working for Robert Maxwell. That's why I've kept all this.” He gestured at the piles of paper on the dining-room table. 

“Of course, Mr Somerton. We'll take this, if you don't mind?”

“My daughter was going to shred it before I moved out anyway. Take it and welcome.”

The door was nudged open. A tabby cat pushed through, paused to survey the visitors, and decided they were to be trusted. She paced gravely further into the room and sniffed carefully at the visitors' shoes.

“Oh, hello, bonny lass.” Robbie reached down a hand to her, and felt a dab or two from the pink nose.

“She likes you! She's not that forward usually,” said Somerton. “Had a nasty knock about ten years ago in that business next door.”

“She knows a mug when she sees one, though.” Robbie was now scratching behind her ears. A contented purring ensued; she turned her head to get the exact spot attended to. “And you're off soon,” he continued. “I saw the “For Sale” notice outside.”

“Yes, it's time. I could stay here another year – maybe - but... Do you want to buy?” Somerton gave a surprisingly impish smile.

“Not me. Where will you be going, just in case we need to contact you?”

“Grange Farm Care Home. There's not much of the farm about it these days, but it's a nice quiet area. I've got enough put away to tide me over until the house is sold. Had enough sense to get my own pension fund, not something Mr Maxwell could get his hands on!”

Hathaway had his professional face on; Robbie's memories of the implosion of the Maxwell empire were rather clearer. “Sensible fellow.” He went to gather the papers together, and found they were being secured by a furry paperweight. The cat became heavy when he tried to shift her. “Where's this cat going when you move?”

“Moxie? Oh, she's going to my son. I'm a bit worried about her; there are three kids and a couple of dogs. She likes it quiet. She came here from next door, when the folks there vanished. She just moved in here. I didn't have the heart to turn her away. She's a nice friendly cat, in her own way. Good company.”

Moxie had arched up under Robbie's stroking hand. Hathaway gave him a sardonic look.

-x-

Nonetheless, he drove back to Oxford smoothly and carefully, so as not to disturb the passenger in the back seat. There were other encumbrances as well as the files; a big box of dried food, a supermarket bag with a selection of tins, and various toys and blankets. And a cat-carrier whose occupant was now asleep, waking occasionally to press a polite paw against the grid of the carrier door. 

“You really are an absolute pushover,” remarked Hathaway. 

“Waifs and strays a speciality,” responded Robbie, with resignation. “I was a goner from the moment she walked in the door.”

“And she knew it. And so did I.”

They exchanged a private smile, and the car whispered north on its way back to Oxford. After ten minutes or so, Robbie remarked, “Thing is, though, Monty might not like it. The name being so similar and all. I mean, I'm sure it'd work out in the end, but - ”

“You want me to take her,” said Hathaway resignedly.

“You've got that flat all to yourself,” said Robbie. “You could do with a bit of company there.”

“I have your company a lot of the time,” said Hathaway, more to tease than for any other reason.

“Oh aye, but permanently-like.”

“I'll have that too when you retire. More permanently than I'd want, very likely.”

“We're getting a bigger place then. Go on, man, you're as soft as me when it comes to cats and she's a sweetie.”

A sidelong look, which indicated that Moxie was not the only sweetie in the car at that point; but he didn't argue the point any further.

-x-

Moxie had listened to all this with interest, picking up what she could of the set-up she might expect. The name Monty confused her a little; that was associated with the programmes Brain used to watch on the television, with vehicles charging across a vast treeless plain and dust being thrown up in huge quantities. He'd said, from time to time, “Yes, that's me! That's old Chalky, he was a good 'un...” and suchlike. This Monty, however, might not be the same person; might in fact be the cat she could faintly smell on Robbie. 

She would prefer not to share an establishment with another cat; but when all was said and done, even that would be better than two dogs and three children, all of whom she had met before, when avoidance was impossible. Hathaway, she could tell, had no such encumbrances.

The car stopped outside a row of houses; trees and shrubs outside, climbers scrambling up the walls. Moxie turned her head this way and that as she was carried up the steps and in through the front door. It reminded her of her old home; there would be plenty of space just to sit and lurk, or to snooze in a secluded corner of the garden.

A sunny room awaited her once they were through another door; Robbie put the carrier on the polished floor and stood back while Hathaway followed with her possessions. Meanwhile she took stock of the place, sticking her head cautiously out of the carrier. Her litter-tray and toys appeared; she cast an eye over them and all appeared to be in order.

“You'll be all right on your own, Moxie?” asked Robbie. “Just for the afternoon. We'll be back before you know it.”

She paced across the floor. She had seen a window, built out over the garden, and under it – yes - radiators. She tested one of these by putting her nose up to it (just nicely warm) and made the jump to sit on top, where there was a view onto the street. There was plenty there to occupy her attention. And on the other side of the room she had noticed double glazed doors, giving out onto more plants. Perfect.

Moxie would miss Brian, just has she had missed Will; but Brian was going to be looked after in his new home, and so, she was confident, was she. She looked at the two men, now filling her food and water bowls, and gave a soft mew as Hathaway closed the door behind him. “See you later, lass,” was the last she heard from them; and from her window perch Moxie watched them return to the car. Both glanced back at her as they got in.

Yes, thought Moxie. She had been a little concerned over the last few days, but this place, these people, would do. She shifted slightly on the radiator, for maximum heat absorption, and dropped into a doze.


End file.
